


When u got mental illness and it just... be like that

by Donrex



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Leonard "Bones" McCoy-centric, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, mccoy has one of those daysTM, well a lil bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 12:23:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donrex/pseuds/Donrex
Summary: McCoy knew exactly what was waiting for him as soon as he woke up alone to spock’s empty bed.He could feel it in his bones. The air was dreadful, sad... empty.The bed, the air, and McCoy.It was one of those days.





	When u got mental illness and it just... be like that

McCoy knew exactly what was waiting for him as soon as he woke up alone to spock’s empty bed.

He could feel it in his bones. The air was dreadful, sad... empty. 

The bed, the air, and McCoy. 

It was one of those days. Empty. Dark. He knew he should be up. He did. But what is the point? He couldn’t save them all. Trying makes it even worse, for he took the leap of faith and fell, which costed a crewman with their life. 

It was one of those days. The kind of days McCoy felt as it nothing is separating between his insides and the vast expanding space right out of his window. The ship, the walls, McCoy’s own skin and flash as if fiction to the strongest sense of nothingness that settled from his brain down his throat and to his stomach. 

McCoy was no fool. He knew to dirfranciate between his own thoughts and... this. He was a Doctor, dammit! He learned that subject for long, long years! He knew how these thoughts were created, the imbalance of chemicals in his brain and their effect on his brain and in result, his body. But knowing it and using that knowledge to get better is two whole different things. 

If only he could make the first move to resist, to mange to close his hands into fists and hold them like that for a few seconds without feeling exhausted. To move on leg off the bed, then the other. To push himself into a sitting position- but it all seemed impossible. He barely managed to move his head away from its fixed point on the ceiling, staring at it with empty eyes. 

He must move. He must make that first step. It will be easier after that first step on, he promised himself in the empty room. 

But it wasn’t easier. And he knew it as he tore his heavy head away from the ceiling and held onto the sheets like his life depended on it and as he lifted a leg off the bed and slowly, slowly, managed to pull himself outright. 

He glanced at the clock. He is late. He glances at the bathroom, but instead pulls himself to a stance and pulls on his shirt from yesterday. Each more minute he wastes on his own useless misery, another crewmen could be lost. He cannot allow himself to lose someone because of his inability to leave bed for no reason, apart from the way the bed feels without his lovers in it, and the amount of emotions he felt lately; worry and fear and agony, draining him to a crisp. 

But he must get over all of that. It is his job. It is others’ lives. He cannot let anyone down.

He walks heavily to the door, and keeps standing in place a few seconds after it opens, his head swimming elsewhere. The walk to sickbay feels twice as long, as McCoy dreads every step, every breath he takes. He knows by experience coffee will not be a good idea on days like this, and for that he skips the mass hall, eyes fixed on the floor. 

He can see the bottom of the door to the sickbay as he takes a step. And another. And one more. One more McCoy. Take the damn step. You made it this far. 

“Doctor?” 

He hadn’t noticed the door sliding open, or chapel’s hand on his shoulder. Then, forcing his gaze up to meet hers, he noticed how silent the corridors were apart from his own voice in his own head. No steps, although he saw others’ shoes. No chatter, although he passed next to the mass hall, and stood in to torbolift with other people. 

“Doctor McCoy?” She repeats. 

He finally meets her eyes, unable to form a smile of reassurance. 

“Is everything alright, Doctor? Does anything hurt?” She is fussing around him. He knew it in the back of his head. But he couldn’t stop thinking about laying down. Or sitting, at least. He should get to his office. 

“...call the captain-“

”no need, nurse.” He cut her off, voice raspy from lack of use. 

“But-“ she tried protesting. 

“Im at my office. Save the worry for the patients.” 

He could feel chapel moving away from him, but his sense of guilt for worrying her, and worse yet, needing it, wanting a grounding touch, a comforting word, was swollen quickly into the void. Feelings were insignificant on these days. 

He glanced at the patients on his way to his office, but no face stood out. Nothing did. The moment the door to his office closed behind, he sinked into his chair, his eyes already involuntarily fixing on a point on the wall and sticking to it. 

If only he could distract himself. Not that he deserved to ignore this. Not that he could anyway. If only he had noticed himself reaching the edge before. Yesterday, even. He may have not have been woken up to find himself free falling and unable to stop until he hits the bottom. Hard.  
He could’ve asked one of his lovers to stay, as selfish as it is. He could’ve gotten drunker, or maybe drank less. He could’ve- 

McCoy knew none of these matters. He knew he would never jeopardize neither Jim nor Spock’s work, no matter the circumstances. He knew that even if he did, it would be a delay, not a solution.  
He just needed to survive. As painful as it was to do so. until it passed. 

“Bones?” 

McCoy blinked in what seemed like the first time in... he glanced at the clock. It was already the delta shift. He completely missed half the day.

“Bones? Chapel called and said it’s important. Is everything alright?” 

McCoy blinked again and looked away from the wall and to Jim; His captain. His friend. His lover. If there were two people who could make him better, he was one of them. 

He stared at him, and Jim stared right back, noticing things about McCoy he probably didn’t know himself; like how his hair was still tousled from sleep, and how the shirt he is wearing is actually Spock’s, the dark bags under his eyes and his empty stare- 

“Im sorry. Let’s go home,” Jim walked up to McCoy, reaching out his hand.

McCoys stared at it, the look in his eyes turning from empty to desperate, an emotion he welcomes for it is caused by the man he loves. 

Jim waited for McCoy to take his hand, but seeing him struggle, he takes it himself and helps hoisting him to his feet. 

“Thank you,” McCoy whispered, because he was thankful, and Jim answered by kissing his cheek and saying: “i love you too.” Because he does. 

He then hooked his hand around McCoy to steady him, and started walking out of sickbay, stopping only to tell doctor m’benga he was in charge for the rest of the day. 

That time, as McCoy walks, time is blurred. 

He is empty, which means there is a lot of space to be filled. And to be pressed against James t. Kirk? It makes him fuller. Warmer. 

And them he’s back in bed, but this time it is Jim’s, and Jim only leave his side once, to inform spock of their location and situation. And when he joins him back and under the covers, McCoy seems to be unable to let go. He hugs him tight, his head pressed against Jim’s chest, breathing unsteadily. 

Time slips away as Jim murmurs into his ear, stroking his hair and kissing his jaw. 

Spock enters then, and says nothing before sitting at the edge of the bed and offering McCoy his fingers for a Vulcan kiss. 

He presses his fingers to spock, and the sensations of love and concern from spock, tangling with his own emptiness and sadness is what it takes to stop denying his emotions. It breaks him.

Tears start running down his face, and his already uneven breath turns into whines and whimpers who express a pain so deep, so profound, spock has to pull away to regather, before subtly offering comfort in the form of physical touch. 

Bones falls onto Spock, careful to keep layers of clothing between them as he sobs into his chest. 

Jim rises and resumes his actions, rubbing McCoy’s back and kissing his hair, making him feel safe. 

If each one of them alone fills him up, Spock and Jim together make him feel whole. 

It’s just one of these days, but he isn’t alone anymore.


End file.
